


Protective Instincts

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Family, Gen, Pre-Series, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even as kids, Sam and Dean looked out for one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protective Instincts

John covered a yawn and struggled to keep his eyes from closing. This had to be the fourth poem about stars, for God's sake. Couldn't these kids think of anything else? But he was here to support his son—whether or not that son wanted the support.

Dean had won a poetry prize, of all things, and had been invited to a special presentation at the school. He and the nineteen other winners would present their poems to the student body and visitors. 

The only reason John knew about it was because he had let Sammy play with some scrap paper from the garbage, realizing when it was almost too late that it was an invitation from the school. When John had confronted Dean, it didn't take long to figure out Dean was embarrassed. It wasn't as though John wanted either of his sons to be poets or anything, but he did feel they should be proud of their accomplishments, and had ordered Dean to attend. The look of betrayal across his son's face had almost made John relent. 

But he stuck his ground, and now he was the one paying the price as he listened to the other students' poems. According to the schedule, Dean was second to last. So it wasn't like John and Sammy could duck out early. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

It was bad enough trying to keep himself conscious, but trying to contain a high-spirited four-year-old as well was a little much. Sammy wanted to go sit with his brother and didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to do so. He didn't appreciate being made to stay in one spot for forty-five minutes. 

As if on cue, Sammy started squirming to get off John's lap.

"Sammy, knock it off," John said softly. "We have to wait for Dean to talk."

"But he's being mean."

"Dean?"

"No, he's being mean to Dean."

Following Sammy's pointing finger, John scanned the crowd for his older son. Dean was sitting in the front section of the auditorium with the other "poets," and he looked fine. Then John noticed him flinch.

Watching closer, he saw something fly through the air from about three rows behind Dean. Whatever it was hit Dean in the shoulder and then another pegged him in the back. John wasn't sure what was being thrown, but it looked like grapes.

Aside from the occasional flinch, Dean was taking the abuse stoically. John had to admit he was surprised. But then he thought about it. Dean knew this was a big deal for some of the kids, and he also knew John was watching. He wouldn't want to sully the Winchester name.

As much as John would like to wring the scrawny neck of the kid throwing the grapes, he was an adult and had to act like it. He'd let Dean know after the ceremony how well he thought he'd handled the situation. 

"Dean's okay, Sammy," John whispered.

Sammy grunted, his lip coming out in a pout. "He's being mean," he repeated. 

John had to bite his lip not to laugh at the fierce growl coming from the toddler. Checking his program, John saw there were only four more kids before Dean. Thank God. This fresh hell should be over soon.

Soon was apparently not soon enough for Sammy. 

Something else flew through the air, and the hoodlum pelting Dean with food was struck solidly in the back of the head with a loud _thwop_. The kid put his hand up to his head and started crying, while everyone else in the auditorium looked to see who had thrown the item. 

John didn't bother. He knew the culprit was sitting on his lap, no longer clutching his prized tennis ball. 

Dean turned to look, zeroing in on John and Sammy immediately. He shot Sammy a wink and a smile.

Sammy chirped and smiled contentedly. "He don't mess with Dean no more."

John knew he should say something to Sammy, but the only thing that came to mind was "Damn good shot, son."


End file.
